Look After Him
by Writin'Redhead
Summary: After the traumatic events Mycroft is plagued by his demons, and Sherlock tells Lestrade to look after his brother. Which Greg does. Just when he's needed the most. - Mystrade. Post s4e3. No direct spoilers for The Final Problem but heavily relies on it.


I spent half the night writing this...

Enjoy~

 **Disclaimer: All characters rightfully belong to ACD and the BBC.**

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Look After Him

"Shh, hey, it's okay. Wake up. I've got you, it's okay."

With a startle, Mycroft's eyes flew wide open.

"Hey. There you are."

Greg was bent over him, one hand used to prop himself up on the mattress, the other gently placed on Mycroft's face, cupping his cheek. He looked worried, Mycroft noticed, even though he was obviously taking a great effort to hide it, and his smile was strained.

"What..." Mycroft cleared his throat. "What happened?"

Although he was still a little disorientated, it wasn't much of a challenge figuring it out, given the circumstances. It'd happened again. But he still asked.

"Nightmare. You were shaking all over. Gave me a right fright, you did." Greg smiled again. Warmer now, seemingly relieved to have Mycroft awake and responding.

Mycroft blinked once. The dim glow from the nightstand told him it was in the middle of the night. "I apologise. Thank you for waking me, but it is late, please go back to sleep. I assure you, I am fine now."

Apparently, it was not convincing because Greg shook his head and said, "Don't lie to me." His voice was soft and even, but firm. "I always know when you do. Who do you think you've been with all those years? A mere daft copper? Mycroft," Greg brushed over his thumb over Mycroft's cheek. "I can see that you are not _fine_. Don't shut me out, talk to me."

For a good few moments Mycroft didn't say anything. His throat felt like it was constricted and the words were stuck. A part of him nearly wished that cell's door had stayed shut, because it meant he now would have to face the consequences.

As soon as he'd finished with the Yard and checked on Sherlock and John, Greg had driven to the hospital, picked up Mycroft, dazed from the sedatives they'd given him, swung by Mycroft's house to collect a few necessities, and then put them both in his bed, wrapped into a thick blanket without too many questions asked. He hadn't needed to.

That had been two days ago. Ever since then Greg had stayed by his side, never too far away and always providing the comfort of company, no matter how much Mycroft claimed it wasn't necessary and he was making too much of a fuss.

"Why?" Mycroft finally managed. "Why are you doing this? I don't deserve it. Not after you've heard about what happened. You should be wanting not having anything to do with me. Not letting me hide away in your bed." He scoffed self-deprecatingly.

"Now, why wouldn't I? I like having you in my bed, Myc," Greg quipped with a risen eyebrow.

It was meant to be a humorous comment, one to ease the mood and make him feel at peace. Usually Greg was always able to coax him to confide in him, share his trouble and help carry the burden - as far as national security allowed it. But now Mycroft couldn't let himself do that; give in and have Greg take off some of the weight on his shoulders. He'd lost that privilege.

"People died. And it was my fault."

It wasn't the first time. There had been orders to give before, final ones, and on more than one occasion. But this time it was different. It was neither planned, nor for the greater good, no, just him being too full of himself to realise what he'd started. Because of his miscalculations. And never before had he felt their consequences so directly himself.

"Yes, people have died." Greg confirmed as he was watching him with intent eyes. He shifted his weight slightly but was not moving away from Mycroft. "And the circumstances are tragic, I'll give you that, but it wasn't your fault. You didn't kill anybody."

Mycroft shook his head. "No. _I_ didn't. My overconfidence did. The one major defect we Holmes men do suffer from. And although we may be afflicted with it, the pain is always felt by others." He turned to his side. The warm hand might still be in place, but he didn't dare to look up and meet those brown eyes, afraid of what he might see in them, despite the darkness. "I believed to be in control. To have the upper hand. Over all of them. Then and now. Sherlock. Moriarty. Eurus. To be cleverer, and use that to my advantage. But it's conceitedness. I was conceited to have ever thought I could do so."

He noticed Greg letting go of his face, and the place where his hand had been suddenly felt cold. Mycroft figured he deserved that.

All his life he remembered to be the one to make the uncomfortable decisions. Those that no one else wanted to make. Be it for family or those that called themselves politicians. But he had gone too far, and now it had finally backfired. He should have known. Should have stopped it years ago.

To his surprise, he felt the other to shift to a more upright position, and a moment later two strong arms were circling his waist and pulling him close. Greg held him to his chest and rested his head atop Mycroft's.

Cradling Mycroft and nothing giving him any chance to back away, he spoke calmly. "You are human. Just like we all are. To be a Holmes doesn't mean you have to be infallible." Mycroft felt the short low chuckle resonate in Greg's chest. "Heaven knows I don' wanna be together with a bloody machine!" Then his voice sobered again. "Look, I know you don't want to hear the whole _It's not your fault, here's some absolution, now get over it_ story - and I won't be telling it." The hold of his arms tightened around Mycroft's waist. "But I want you to know that you're not alone. I am with you and I'll be right here for you when you need me."

For a moment, they sat in silence as Mycroft let the words sink in before he replied.

"And for how long will that be?"

"Forever, if you want me to."

There was a gentle touch when Greg placed a kiss atop his head.

Mycroft allowed himself to lean back, and for the first time in the last forty-eight hours he felt his body starting to relax. Not completely, but he guessed it was a start.

His voice was quiet as he began to drift back to sleep.

"Thank you, Gregory."

The nightmares continued, but they became fewer and further between. And he never woke up alone.

 _fin._

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 **A/N**

 **Thank you for reading**

 **Feedback is always welcome ^^**

 **~Writin'Redhead**


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